


Scars

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M, References to workplace violence.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-01
Updated: 2006-03-01
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8078809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Trip is curious about Malcolm's scars. (07/28/2005)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers: 2.03 "Minefield", 2.04 "Dead Stop."

This is actually a rejected scene from a longer story that I've been working on. I decided that it didn't really belong and cut it out. I almost consigned it to the recycle bin, but then decided that I liked it enough to inflict it on other people. It has no real point or plot. It's all porn and pillow talk (and a few tiny flecks of angst). 

Warnings: References to workplace violence.  


* * *

"Harder." Trip gasped. "Damn it Malcolm, stop teasing and fuck me." He rocked his hips up against Malcolm, eliciting a low growl from the dark haired man. Malcolm complied with Trip's demands, abandoning his slow leisurely movements for harder more urgent thrusts. "Yes." Trip groaned in encouragement as their bodies clashed together. "Like that. Just like that." 

Malcolm grasped Trip's hard cock, letting his hand match the rhythm of their rocking hips. "Yes." Trip panted. Heat and pleasure crested and Trip came with a wordless cry of completion. Malcolm slammed hard into Trip several more times before his own release washed over him. They collapsed onto the bed, sweating and breathless. "Oh, yeah." Trip said. "Let's do that again." Malcolm laughed. 

"Let me catch my breath first, all right?" 

"Sure." Trip said. "Scoot over a bit, would you." They rearranged themselves on the bed, Trip spooning himself up against Malcolm's back. "That's better." He said with a sigh. 

"Better for you." Malcolm complained. "I'm the one lying on the wet spot." 

"Oh, quit your whining. We'll change the sheets later." 

"Fine, but next time you get the wet spot." 

"Whatever you say, Darlin'." Trip said. He propped himself up on his elbow and ran his hand lazily over the hard muscled planes of Malcolm's body. Malcolm's skin was smooth and pale except where it was marred by old injuries. 

"Mmmm. That feels good." Malcolm stretched like a contented cat under the touch, his complaint about the messy sheets completely forgotten. 

"You sure have a lot of scars." Trip observed softly. 

"Yes. Occupational hazard, I'm afraid." 

"I bet Dr. Phlox could remove them." 

"I'm sure he could." 

"You should ask him about it." 

"I'd rather not." Malcolm said. "I spend more than enough time in sickbay as it is. They're just scars, Trip. They don't hurt anymore." Trip said nothing but he continued to stroke his hand slowly across Malcolm's bare skin. "Do they bother you?" Malcolm asked. 

"A little." Trip admitted, running his finger down a thin ridge of scar tissue on Malcolm's thigh. "They remind me of how dangerous your job can be." Malcolm shrugged slightly. 

"That's why I keep them." 

"Oh." Trip said. 

"What's wrong?" Malcolm asked, puzzled by the undertone of dismay in Trip's voice. He rolled over to look at his lover. 

"Are you sure that's healthy?" Trip asked. "Keeping reminders of getting hurt?" 

"Not all reminders are bad." Malcolm said. 

"Are you sure? 'Cause you have a real talent for self- reproach. It kinda worries me sometimes." Trip's voice was full of concern. Malcolm smiled and reached out to cup Trip's face in his hand. 

"I'm sure. They're not marks of failure. They're merely reminders of things that I've learned." 

"That's really all it is?" 

"Yes, Trip. Really." 

"So...what does this remind you of then?" Trip asked, his fingers brushing lightly over the ragged scar just below Malcolm's right collarbone. 

"That one reminds me not to judge a book by its cover." 

"You were in a library when you got this?" Trip asked with a small smile. 

"No, I was in a bar." 

"What kind of bar?" 

"Does it matter?" 

"Was it a gay bar?" 

"Trip..." 

"Was it?" 

"All right, fine. Yes it was. Anyway, I got into an altercation with this fellow and..." 

"Why?" 

"Why what?" 

"Why did you get into a fight in a gay bar?" 

"Because he took exception to the fact that I was talking to his boyfriend." 

"You were chatting up some other guy's boyfriend? I never took you for a poacher." Malcolm rolled his eyes. 

"Very funny. I didn't know they were together at the time. Now, do you want to hear this story or not?" 

"Sorry." Trip said with an unrepentant grin. 

"At first I wasn't too worried, but then he decided to come after me with a broken beer bottle. The man was a big muscle-bound bruiser, and I made the mistake of thinking that meant he would be slower than me." Trip slid his thumb over the scar. 

"Let me guess. He wasn't." 

"No, he wasn't. He was deadly fast. He was going for my throat but he was drunk, and that put his aim off just enough. Good thing too. He could have very easily killed me." 

"Scary." 

"Yes. But I've never made that mistake again. It's ironic that I had to learn that particular lesson the hard way. I almost always gain an advantage in a fight because people underestimate me. I don't exactly fit the stereotypical image of a security officer, you know. " 

"Oh really?" Trip said teasingly. 

"Really." Malcolm replied with mock seriousness. Trip grinned and let his hand drift over to a slightly concave scar on the lower left side of Malcolm's chest. 

"What about this?" Malcolm's eyes clouded over and he didn't answer immediately. Trip frowned, not liking the sudden wary stillness of his lover's body. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." He said. Malcolm let his pent up breath out in a soft sigh. 

"No, it's all right. It was from friendly fire. Now there's an oxymoron for you; there was nothing friendly about it." Malcolm covered Trip's hand with his own, pressing it lightly against the scar. "It happened when I was with the Small Weapons Development Department at Starfleet R&D. My first official posting. Commander Dresden was in charge at the time. He was a right bastard, that one. Had a temper on him. When things were going well, he took all the credit, but when things went wrong we received all the blame." 

"One of my fellow ensigns, Mike Calahan, wrote a paper on phase modulated weapons for a conference on Jupiter Station. It was a brilliant piece of workâ€”ground breaking in some of its ideas. Dresden caught wind of it and appropriated it as his own. He put his name on it and presented it to the higher-ups. Mike was beside himself when he found out. The next day he came into work with an EM-33. He shot up Dresden's office and then threatened to blow Dresden's head off." 

"I talked him out of it. I told him that Dresden wasn't worth it and that Admiral Gonzalez would understand once we explained the situation. I told him that it was going to be all right; that I'd help him. He was the closest thing I had to a friend at the time, but I lied to him. I knew it wouldn't turn out all right for him. Even given the circumstances, Starfleet would never overlook such behavior." 

"To be perfectly honest, I'm not even sure Mike really wanted to do anything more than scare the hell out of Dresden. Anyway, I'd just convinced him to give me the weapon when a tactical team came crashing through the door. Bunch of bloody tossers. If they'd bothered to put someone on the security cameras they would have realized that the situation was under control at that point. I was the one holding the weapon, so I was the one they shot. The bullet went in here," Malcolm indicated the deep scar on his chest, then rolled over to show Trip a larger ragged scar on his back. "Exited there. Blew a hole the size of my fist out my back. I was fortunate that the gunman didn't go for a head shot. I woke up five days later in the ICU at Starfleet Medical." 

"The whole nasty mess had been cleaned up by the time I was able to return to duty. Calahan had been court-martialed and sent off to a penal colony in Alaska; Dresden had been removed as department head. There was an investigation into the actions of the tactical team, but in the end the incident was labeled a 'regrettable accident' and swept under the carpet." 

"I think I remember reading about this in your file." Trip said. "Didn't they give you a commendation for saving Dresden's life?" 

"Yes. They gave me a bloody medal, too. I threw the damn thing away." 

"But you kept this." Trip ghosted his fingers over the old wound. 

"Yes. I did everything I was supposed to do, and I did it right, but I still nearly died. Sometimes all the mistakes belong to someone else." 

"I'm sorry." 

"What for?" Malcolm asked his brow creasing in confusion. "It wasn't your fault." 

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." Malcolm shrugged. 

"I survived." 

"I'm glad you did." Trip leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on Malcolm's lips. 

"Me too. If I hadn't, I would have missed out on all of this." Malcolm pulled Trip down for a longer more passionate kiss, shattering the pensive mood. They were both breathing hard by the time they parted. Trip grinned and slid his hand down between Malcolm's legs. 

"You ready for round two, yet?" Malcolm groaned part in pleasure, part in exasperation. 

"Trip, I'm not eighteen anymore. Give it a few more minutes." 

"Sure, Darlin', if you insist." Trip's hand skimmed up over Malcolm's hip and down along his thigh. Trip traced the edges of the almost imperceptible circular scar with one finger. "I know how you got this one. That freaky repair station did a good job. There's barely a mark. I can feel it more than see it." 

"I rather wish it had left more of a mark. I learned something important out on the hull that day." 

"And that was?" 

"That maybe I should place more trust in my captain and crewmates." 

"Took you long enough to figure that one out." Trip said softly. 

"I don't trust easily. I never have." 

"Well, I'm glad you're learning." Malcolm smiled. 

"I have a good instructor." He said. "I trust you with my life. And my heart." 

"You have no idea how much that means to me." Trip said, rubbing gently at the faint scar. He sighed. "You really scared me that day, you know?" 

"I know. I'm sorry." 

"Just don't do it again, okay?" 

"I'll do my best not to." Trip trailed his hand slowly back up and stroked over the four closely spaced lines that graced Malcolm's left buttock. The thin pale scars curved gently off the swell of his ass and down his muscled thigh. Trip lightly traced each line with his finger. Malcolm twitched slightly under the touch. 

"Quit that." He said. "It tickles." 

"Do I want to know how you got that?" Trip asked. 

"Well, that one represents the most important lesson of all." Malcolm said with a wry smile. 

"Oh?" 

"Indeed." 

"Well, are you gonna tell me or do I have to guess?" 

"Always make sure the pets are out of the room before the festivities begin." 

"Huh?" "Several years ago, I dated a chemical weapons expert. One night after dinner we went back to her apartment and, well, one thing led to another and we ended up in the bedroom. Things were progressing quite nicely, but we had neglected to close the door. The next thing I knew, her cat was attacking me." Trip burst into laughter. 

"You're telling me a sweet little kitty cat did that?" He managed to get out. 

"There was nothing sweet or little about it!" Malcolm protested. "It was a massive calico brute." 

"A little calico kitty!" Trip crowed. "And it nailed you right on your ass!" 

"Just as we were getting down to business." Malcolm said ruefully. "I was lucky my arse was the only thing it got." Trip sniggered. 

"I bet you at least got some loving comfort afterwards." 

"Actually, no. I was the one who was bleeding, but she was more concerned about that damn cat. Said I had traumatized it with all my shouting. Needless to say the relationship didn't survive the night." 

"Poor baby. So what was her name?" 

"The girlfriend? Lila. Or was it Lisa? Something like that. I can't recall now. But I still remember that bloody cat's name." 

"Oh?" 

"Napalm. The cat's name was Napalm." Trip dissolved into another fit of laughter. 

"It's not that funny." Malcolm said grumpily. 

"Oh, yes it is." Trip insisted. 

"Humph. I shouldn't have told you." 

"My poor Mal." Trip said, but the sympathy was largely negated by the smirk on his face. He leaned over and began trailing a line of light kisses along the path of the scars. 

"What are you doing?" Malcolm asked. 

"Kissing it better." 

"It's a scar, Trip. It's already better." Malcolm gave a small gasp as Trip's tongue retraced the path his lips had taken. 

"You want me to stop?" 

"No." Malcolm said, shivering in pleasure as Trip's tongue continued to brush along his skin. "As a matter of fact, I think it's working. I'm starting to feel better already." 

"Mmm. So I see. It looks like you're gonna make a complete recovery." 

"I think I already have. Come here and let me show you. I'll tell you about the rest of my scars later."


End file.
